


The Ninth of September

by Fandoms_Are_Life37



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 9/11, American History, Angst, Blood and Injury, Brothers America & Canada (Hetalia), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad, September 11 Attacks, Terrorism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24629209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_Are_Life37/pseuds/Fandoms_Are_Life37
Summary: England is with America on September 11th when the plane crashes occur.
Relationships: America & England (Hetalia), America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	The Ninth of September

**Author's Note:**

> Word count: 1,268
> 
> Estimated read time: 12 mins and 30 seconds
> 
> Warnings: Sad, 9/11, Blood, Injury

Arthur's POV

8:46 AM- Flight 11 hits the North World Trade Center

I was in the kitchen when I heard a thump in the living room. Glancing at the door, I called, "Alfred? Did you trip?"

No reply.

"Alfred?"

Still nothing. I got up from the table, leaving my breakfast. I entered the living room and for a moment, I didn't see my boyfriend. Then I noticed the crumpled figure on the ground.

"Alfred!" I ran over to his side, turning him over onto his back. On his stomach, a dark red bloodstain began to appear. "Oh my god, Alfie! Wake up!"

What had happened? How was he hurt? I tugged up the bottom of his shirt. A deep, deep gash was open, gushing blood.

"Alfred, wake up!"

His eyes fluttered open. They looked unfocused and he didn't seem to notice his injury for a moment.

And then came the screams.

I kept pressure on the wound, looking around for the nearest phone. Grabbing it with bloodied hands, I realized I didn't know the emergency number in America. My stomach dropped. Instead, I dialed for the closest person to us- Matthew. He was visiting from Canada and may be able to help.

"Hello?" Matthew's voice came from the other end of the line.

"Matthew!"

"Arthur? What-"

"It's Alfred, he's hurt, I need you to get over here. Bring the car!" Arthur instructed, voice shaking.

Matthew sounded alarmed. "Hurt? What do you mean by hurt?"

"Just get here!" I hung up, tossing the phone aside and trying to stop the bleeding, but the wound was just too big. All I could hear was Alfred's cries of pain. All I could feel was warm blood between my fingers. All I could see was red.

Matthew arrived within minutes, bursting through the door and seeing Alfred. "Oh my god!"

"Start the car, we need to get to the hospital!"

"It's still running."

Matthew and I lifted Alfred up. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. We got him into the backseat, me staying beside him and Matthew slamming on the gas.

The car ride was only a few minutes long, but it felt like an eternity.

"Stop! Please, please stop!" Alfred cried, begging me to take my hands off the wound. It hurt him more, but it was for the best. Still, I felt guilty. "A- Arthur, please! It hurts!"

I looked over at Matthew. "Drive faster."

We arrived at the ER, carrying Alfred until some nurses noticed him, shouting directions and getting a gurney. Alfred was lifted onto it and immediately wheeled away where I couldn't follow.

9:03 AM- Flight 175 hits the South World Trade Center

"Honey! Honey! Look!" A woman cried, grabbing her husband's arm and pointing at a TV on mute in the corner of the room. On the screen were the World Trade Centers, one of them billowing smoke.

I gasped. That's what had hurt Alfred. I grabbed the remote from the nurse's station, despite their protests and turned the volume on.

"Holy shit..." I whispered. A plane crash.

People stared at the live feed with wide eyes. From the side, we saw another object as it slammed into the side of the South tower with a boom. Gaps, shouts, screams, and panic could be heard throughout the hospital. A second plane. This was no accident.

Desks, furniture, plane parts, and burning bodies were falling from the gaping hole in the side of the building. After them came people jumping to their deaths, tumbling down to crash thousands of feet below. Suicide was better than burning alive. Papers blew through the air like a blizzard before coming to the ground like snow.

I whipped around to look down the hall where they had taken Alfred. A few nurses received pages and ran in the direction Alfred had gone. That couldn't be a good sign.

For the first time that day, I started to cry. The shock and adrenaline was wearing off. Sinking down into a chair, I covered my face and sobbed. What if I lost him? No, I couldn't lose him. I could never live without him.

9:31 AM- President George W. Bush addresses the nation

Matthew, eyes puffy, approached me. "President Bush is going to address the nation."

I let out a shaky breath. "I'll stay here."

He didn't push it, just sat down beside me, staring down at the ground. "Do you think he'll be okay?"

"Of course he will. He's the strongest nation I've ever known." That was true, but worry was still eating at me. Tearing at me would be a better description.

Matthew sniffed. "Yeah. You're right."

9:38 AM- Flight 77 Strikes the Pentagon

More nurses received pages, speaking hurriedly to one another as they ran off. I caught Alfred's name as well as the words 'surgery' and 'critical.'

Fear swept through me. I looked at Matthew to ask if he heard but he looked ghostly pale and I knew he did.

I excused myself to the bathroom, stumbling into a stall and falling to my knees to throw up. It was all too much.

I sat there for another ten minutes before washing my hands in hot water. They were still stained red. I scrubbed them until they were raw.

I turned off the water and took a deep breath before going back to where Matthew was waiting. My hands shook and I fisted them to try to keep them steady.

"Any news?" I croaked.

He shook his head. "No."

9:59 AM- The South Tower Collapses

I stared at the screen, watching the smoke and flames. It was horrific to see, but impossible to look away.

That's when the South Tower crumbled. It slid down almost cartoonishly. Massive clouds of dust and debris flooded Manhattan, and as the news switched between cameras, I could see people screaming in the streets and running for their lives. The clouds swelled into the sky between surrounding buildings. The tower was just... gone, and soon it was followed by the other.

There were five other smaller buildings of the World Trade Center that went down, too. All that was left was gnarled steel, smoke, and flame.

Matthew fell to his knees and I got down to embrace him. But we didn't cry. At that point, we were numb.

We knew the hospital was preparing to care for the injured. We heard someone say that Alfred was flatlining to someone else. But we didn't move. We hugged. We watched. We waited.

And I sat on the floor of the ER, Alfred's blood still drying on my clothes.

September 24th, 2001

I had Alfred's hand in my own. He hadn't woken up since the eleventh and I hadn't left the hospital since then. Matthew had brought me a change of clothes, though. The stained ones were in a crumpled pile in the corner of the room.

It was cool in there. Very quiet. Mostly, I just sat in a chair beside Alfred, thinking about it all.

I thought that the hospital would be incredibly busy after such a disaster, but they weren't. The anticipated wave of patients never came.

The beeping of his heart monitor had consumed my mind. I'd listen all day and when I lay my head down on Alfred's bed to go to sleep, I could feel my heartbeat sync with his.

Things got worse as the days went on. We found out that the Pentagon had been struck and that a flight went down in Pennsylvania- one that was likely headed to the White House or the Capital Building. The death toll was still being counted, but it was devastatingly high already. I tried to imagine what that would be like, having so many citizens die in this day and age. I thought, what if a plane crashed into central London? Even then, the casualties would be fewer.

Alfred had severe internal organ damage and his back was covered in burns. The doctors were baffled when new injuries appeared on his body, not knowing who (or what) he was. But I think everyone was to tired and depressed to care.

Our friends couldn't come yet because every flight in and out of the US had been grounded, but they all sent condolences. They called everyday to check in on Alfred but so far there had been no change. We weren't sure if he was ever going to wake up.

The world was grieving. There were memorial services in nearly every country. From what I had heard, they performed Alfred's national anthem at Buckingham Palace. I'd seen a short clip, but I couldn't bear to hear each lyric in my head, remember the smoke, and see Americans and British alike crying with small flags in their hands outside the palace gates.

But, of course, no one grieved more than America. I can't even put it into words.

Part of me wondered if I could have protected him from this. Should I have done more?

Another part of me felt the loss like they were my own citizens. They would have been, if Alfred hadn't won the Revolutionary War. That always made me a bit more protective of America than the other countries. I owed it to him.

"Arthur?"

My head shot up to look at Alfred. His eyes were barely open and he was looking at me with a pained expression.

"Alfred? Oh thank god, thank god!" I kissed him with more passion than I ever had before, though still careful not to hurt him. "I thought I lost you."

"W- What happened?"

I gulped. He didn't know. "You were hurt. Badly."

He looked confused. "What? Why?"

"You have to swear to me that you won't blame yourself."

His eyes swam with fear. "Arthur, what happened?"

"Swear to me!"

He sighed. "I swear."

"I don't know how to even say this... Alfie, there was an attack."

"What?" His eyes widened. "On my country?"

"Yes."

"Is everyone okay?"

My head hurt. Breaking this news to him had to be one of the hardest things I'd ever done. "No, love. They're not."

"How many deaths?" His voice was small.

"Alfred..."

"How many?" He repeated.

I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath. "They don't know yet. They're still counting."

"Still? How long has it been? A day? Two?"

"Thirteen."

He was quiet for a moment. "They're still counting after thirteen days?"

"Yes."

"Where was the attack? Wait, who attacked me?" He started to sit up but yelped in pain, laying back down.

"Careful, darling. There were multiple attacks."

"Multiple?"

"Yes. Two in New York, one in D.C, and one that was thwarted but resulted in casualties in Pennsylvania. They don't know who is responsible yet, but President Bush is furious. He's determined to find them."

Alfred looked so worried. "What happened in the attack?"

"Four planes were hijacked. The first two hit the World Trade Centers, the third hit the Pentagon, and the passengers were able to take back the fourth one, crashing it into a field in Pennsylvania so that it wouldn't hit an important building and kill more people."

"Planes? We were hit by planes? How damaged are the buildings?"

"The Pentagon is missing a chunk."

His face was full of disbelief. "A chunk?"

"And... And both towers collapsed."

"No... that's impossible. There's never been a skyscraper collapse like that. The Twin Towers are incredibly strong. And big."

"It's true. I'm so sorry."

He was quiet. "Is there footage?"

Too much footage. "Yes."

His voice was grave. "I need to see it."

"Artie, honey, maybe you should wait. It's intense and-"

"I need to see it."

It took a while to get my hands on the footage again. When I did, I begged him to wait. Heal some first. But he didn't listen.

We sat and watched it. I felt like I was reliving that day in the ER and now I knew what each hit did to the love of my life.

With each impact of a jumper, he flinched. He flinched a lot.

He cried as he watched and by the time it was over, he was sobbing into my shoulder while I held him as best as I could without disturbing his injuries.

That night, I still held Alfred's hand. I was awake, despite closing my eyes and waiting for sleep.

I thought that Alfred was, too, but then I heard him shakily ask me, "Iggy? What's the death toll so far?"

I sighed. "It's nearing 3,000."

He squeezed my hand and I recognized the tremor in his voice that always preceded tears. "Okay."

September 11, 2019

Eighteen years ago, there was a terrorist attack on America. It still was a sensitive topic for Alfred. He didn't speak of it except on its anniversary. On those days, I'd stay home and stroke his hair while he cried.

There were jagged scars on his body from each plane hit and burn scars on his back from the incredible fires that raged that day- fires that burned at 800 degrees Celsius or 1,472 degrees Fahrenheit. For a long time after, he'd never take off his shirt unless he was alone. We didn't shower together, bathe together, or even change in the same room. Sex was delayed, too, but once it came back he still didn't take off his shirt. Not that I minded, I understood his want for privacy. I just worried about him.

Emotionally, he was still healing, but that was okay. I loved and supported him unconditionally.

We'd never forget 9/11, but we didn't really want to. We'd remember it forever so that those lost would live on.

They would never be forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys. So it's September 11th (at least, when I'm posting this) and I figured now was a good time to write this chapter. As an American, it's really hard to truly think about it. The footage makes me cry every time. We lost so much that day in a way that we never thought possible. But it's important to remember the people died, whether they were in the plane crashes, in the towers, in the Pentagon, rescue workers, jumpers, or civilians that were too close to the tower. The final count of dead on 9/11 is 2,996 people, although it is likely that it is much higher. Either way, it has been the most deadly terrorist attack of all time and the greatest American tragedy, too. But we remember and we carry on, no matter what, because this is the land of the free and the home of the brave.


End file.
